Right Where You Want Me
by Against the Evening Sky
Summary: High school AU. "You're mad cute," he says, grinning. "Do me." And so begins the story of charming, indie rocker Austin and his awkward Allycat.
1. Prologue

_Carve your name into my arm_

_Instead of stressed, I lie here charmed_

'_Cause there's nothing else to do_

_Every me and every you_

"Every You, Every Me"—Placebo

Right Where You Want Me

_Prologue_

The first things I noticed about him were not his startling good looks, rebelliously bleached hair, or even the abs I could just make out through his too-tight, black henley. I didn't notice the sprinkling of chest hair—a shade or two darker than the artfully mussed strands upon his head—peeking out where the first few buttons were undone. I didn't even notice how his black jeans clung to his behind a little too nicely, showing just a sliver of plaid boxer.

No, I didn't pay attention to any of this—until after I had dragged my eyes away from an entirely different part of him.

He had his sleeves rolled up just past his elbows, showcasing a lovely pair of muscular forearms, along with...ink.

And not the kind that was encased in one of the pens I had stowed away in my locker.

Tattoo ink. Lots of it.

This told me many things about the boy I would come to know as Austin Moon. For one, this new boy was a senior or he had a killer fake I.D. to get the "art" upon his arms. For another, he was about five tattoos over the line between _average teenager_ and _utter bad boy_ and showed no signs of turning back. And lastly, as if the first two statements didn't make this obvious enough, he was already thoroughly off limits judging by the way Marino High School's royalty, Kira Starr, was pawing him.

Despite him being new that day—and my flawless attendance record and unceasing attention to detail guaranteed that he was—they seemed to know each other. Kira had a hand on his chest as she laughed musically at whatever he'd just said.

Oh, yes. Austin Moon was most certainly forbidden territory. Not that it would matter if he wasn't. If a passion for schoolwork hadn't already gotten me labeled as a nerd, my propensity to embarrass myself in front of anything with a pulse most certainly would. And did.

What would a guy like him want with an awkward, studious sophomore like me?

Nothing. Or so I thought.

Little did I know what would ensue in the coming months.


	2. Chapter 1

_Thank you so much for the tremendous response to the prologue! I hope you enjoy this second installment._

Right Where You Want Me

_Chapter One_

One would think that—as a sophomore—I would have stopped having trouble with my locker. If only I were so lucky. Of course, mine is the _singular_ locker that sticks in the entire hallway. I pull at the handle halfheartedly as I watch my best (_only_) friend Trish glide up to me. When I first met her, I couldn't believe that, with her trendy clothes and confident air, she was willing to be friends with me.

And then she opened her mouth.

Trish is a Grade A bitch, but I love her anyway.

"Let me guess—your locker won't open, and you're about to claim it's stuck. I hate to break it to you, Ally, but you're just weak."

"Well, if that's the case, I'd like to see you open it," I huff.

She does. With great flair and ease.

I glare at her, before changing my tune to a hopeful smile. "Want to switch lockers?"

Trish snorts. "You wish."

I sigh, and go about my morning school routine. With me, I take the folders and books I'll need for my next three classes, knowing Trish won't be able to open my locker for me again until lunch. In addition, I grab my pencil case and songbook—the one item that never leaves my presence—and close my devilish locker.

Then, I bid my friend farewell, and face my doom—first period health class.

Is it just me or did ominous music just start playing?

-A&A-

There's an upside and a downside to always being early to class.

Upside: first dibs on seat choice.

Downside: watching every other student trickle in and sit anywhere but next to me.

From my vantage point one row back, two seats deep, I can see Mr. Lewis gearing up for another day of embarrassing us all. I'm fairly certain he enjoys it. Sometimes, I swear I can see the twinkle in his eye get brighter with every displeased groan and deep blush from the pained health class populace.

Students continue to collapse into desk chairs as if standing is a chore too exhausting to withstand a moment longer. I glance at the clock and see that there's about a minute until the late bell gongs merrily. Resisting a sigh, I brace myself for the obnoxious noise and impending headache with closed eyes. But instead of hearing the loud blare of the bell, I hear Mr. Lewis greeting someone.

"You must be our new student. Austin, right?" My eyes snap open. "Welcome to Marino High, kid. Take a seat anywhere."

_What was he doing in a sophomore health class?_ My wide orbs take in the new boy for the second time. He's just as tousled and attractive as the last time I saw him, and _he's head__ed directly for__ me_. Dear god.

Breathe, Ally. In and out. You can do this.

He slides into the desk next to me, and gives me a nod of acknowledgment. "Hey," he says. "I'm Austin."

A tanned hand extends toward me casually. I'm sure I look like a deer in the headlights, all wide eyes and gaping mouth, but somehow I manage to mutter my name and shake his hand limply before turning to face the board.

New kid doesn't take the hint.

"So, health class, huh? At my old school, they just called it Sex Ed. I can't believe I have to take it over again just because the name is different. It was bad enough the first time, you know?"

This poor, clueless boy doesn't understand that talking to me is social suicide. I should inform him somehow, right?

"Did you know that there are over twelve different kinds of birth control not including abstinence? That tally includes three different types of pills, various implanted devices, two assortments of condoms, and sterilization," I blurt. My cheeks immediately burn with humiliation, and my eyes dart, panic-stricken, around the room before landing on one of Austin's many tattoos.

It's of a dolphin.

_Oh. My. God._

I cannot believe I just word-vomited about safe sex! I've most _certainly_ informed him of my social leprosy now.

A moment passes.

"You're mad cute," he says suddenly, grinning. "Do me."

I stare at him blankly.

"Safely, of course," Austin adds with a wink.

I blink slowly and turn to face the blackboard once more. This time, however, my cheeks are flaming red. I drop my head to my desk in shame, and hope numbly that I'll die before I have to look in Austin's direction again.

No such luck.


End file.
